


Hopelessly Human

by PinkAries



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Detoxing, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Family Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAries/pseuds/PinkAries
Summary: During a vampire hunt, fifteen-year-old Sam has to relocate to yet another high school when a series of unfortunate encounters lead to a newfound addiction for him. An addiction to heroin and drugs of the like. He struggles to hide his symptoms and usage, but it isn't long before Dean finds out.





	Hopelessly Human

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Sam run's away from home fic somehow turned to Sam's possible junkie history pre-demon blood and I don't know what else to say other than I can't stop angst fics from getting more angsty in my grasp.
> 
> Enjoy!

Some it felt like there was no point to even attending classes.

It was no secret but then that Sam wished he could settle down somewhere for more than a month. So far four weeks broke a record on the longest time he attended one school. It would be a miracle for him to gather all of his assignments and make it into college. But even if this included somehow running away and making it on his own, Sam already decided he didn’t want to give that possibility up.

Yet here they were again, new high school, completely different state than the last. Dean had already stopped attending a while ago, taking up the true hunters name just like their father. He found his calling, Sam was working for his despite the strenuous circumstances.   
  
So Dean should stop getting pissy over every little thing, but maybe that was asking too much.

“I can walk to school.”   
  
“You serious? You don’t even know the area.”   
  
“Because you and Dad haven’t already beaten every navigational skill into my mind under the sun…”

Dean glanced at Sam, whose head was against the window and eyes were blanking out. Definitely in some place far off an dark. But it wasn't hard to read. This was the same ongoing problem for years, now. Dean couldn’t blame Sam. Actually, he understood why he felt the way he did, but heart-to-heart talks wasn’t his strong point.

“Look, I just wanna’ make sure you get there safely. Once you know the roads, fine. But we’re only here because--”   
  
“--of a vampire nest striking the town. I know. I also know how to kill those, too.”

“You don’t want to be a hunter, so don’t talk like you are one, Sammy.”   
  
Sam felt a sting. He knew Dean was right, again, but it still made him angry. The whole two of them made him angry on many occasions, and while he’d love to argue back, he couldn’t find the will in him to fight. So once again, he’d exhale in protest, and concede.   
  
“Alright.”   
  
But it didn’t make the rest of the car ride silence any less awkward. Just Dean’s rock music to fill the space.   
  
And there they pulled up. Another generic high school with a generic name and generic people inside. Mountain Crest Memorial school. It was on a semi-famous military landmark for the small town, making that just another generic story he may forget in the future.

Sam grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the car, already feeling eyes on him and the Impala in the parking lot.   
  
“ _ Hey, _ ”   
  
Sam leaned down to see Dean.   
  
“Alright, you have directions back to the motel. If I don’t pick you up within an hour after school, head home. And you see anything weird or anything--”   
  
“--happens then call Bobby. I know the drill. Drill and I are roommates now.”   
  
Dean glared at Sam’s sassy head cocking and smile full of vitriol. Dean just rolled his eyes and shifted into drive.   
  
“Don’t be a bitch.”   
  
“Then stop being a jerk.”   
  
Sam slammed the door shut and walked off, heading towards the school. When he heard Dean’s tires squeal off, he stopped for a moment to close his eyes and huff. Sam was mature enough at that point to realize his behavior was far from mature. He always loathed the bratty kids who acted like he did just now, and there he was, starting fights over his own inner turmoil.

But he bucked up instead, brushing past the gazes and ready to start “ _ First Day _ ” number 176.

* * *

 

It was the general lowdown you’d expect.   
  
“Would you like to introduce yourse--”   
  
“Sam Winchester.”   
  
“Okay, do you have any interests--”   
  
“None. Where’s my seat?”   
  
The teacher was taken aback by his attitude, which Sam already felt himself shriveling inside for. He was met with an angry point towards an empty spot and made his way over. Sam wasn’t going to make friends. He wasn’t even going to see these people. He just wanted to hurry up, do his assignments, and then dropout to the next school. This institute hobbing was just a job for him. Something he had to get done so he could stand on his feet alone.   
  
So he could put the idea of hunting behind him.

_ BAM _ !   
  
“ _ I said I get it! _ ”   
  
“ _You clearly don’t._ ”   
  
All heads turned to the classroom door. Standing in the way was a teacher, a particularly tall one, holding what looked like a back-alley teenage thug in place. He pushed him inside of the classroom and the student adjusted his jacket.   
  
“What’s going on here?” Sam’s homeroom instructor went to the other.   
  
“Found him snooping in the faculty room.”   
  
Mr. Homeroom sighed. He nodded to the other. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”   
  
Mr. Man-handler left, closing the door the slammed open behind himself. The thug in question stood in front of the class, waiting for his scolding so he could just get it over with.   
  
“You’re lucky we haven’t called the police on your antics yet, Mr. Bard.”   
  
The kid addressed as Mr. Bard only smirked in response as he was waved off to go sit. He strut in confidence towards his seat, down the line--past Sam? No. _Approaching_ Sam.   
  
He looked at the desk, then at Sam, playing with the hook of his mouth piercing.   
  
“That’s my desk. Move.”   
  
Sam looked to the rest of the class, then up at this Mr. Bard kid. He shook his head.   
  
“Teach assigned me here. So I’m sitting here.”   
  
“I said  _ move _ .”   
  
“You want me to move, you take it up with him.”   
  
“ _ Mr. Bard _ !” The teacher scolded from up front, slamming his papers down on the podium. “You’re holding up the class. Just sit down anywhere.”

Bard clicked his tongue, dragging his feet towards the back and throwing himself in a seat. He ripped off his beanie to expose short, blonde locks, probably in need of a rinse. Or maybe he just thought it made him look edgier.   
  
It did a little.   
  
Sam wouldn’t admit that.   
  
They started class, and even though Sam could feel Bard’s eyes locked into his spine, he was set on not entertaining the guy and instead took notes, studying like he was supposed to.

* * *

 

The bell rang, all went into the cafeteria, then flooded back out, to their lockers for next period. Sam went to his locker, using a small piece of paper with a crudely drawn map to help him find his number, and used the instructions to turn the numbers. The books he had packed in earlier began to switch out in his bag.

As he swiped out one book, a silver switchblade got caught on the spine. He noticed it dangling from the side of his backpack and jolted, rushing to stuff it back into hiding in his pocket, then glancing around. Thankfully, every student nearby had been preoccupied with chatter and making it on time to their next class. It didn’t appear that anybody had seen.

He shook his head, finishing what he needed and closing the door.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Sam startled, whipping around.

There he was, the annoying blonde with a piercing named Bard. The one who was trying to steal records, apparently. He lifted his hands up in defense, looking quite relaxed. Or maybe he was just really, really stoned.

“Mind putting the fist down?”   
  
Referring to Sam’s hand up and ready for combat. Sam swallowed when he noticed, quickly lowering it and smoothing out his jacket sleeve. Curse these reflexes. He adjusted his backpack strap.   
  
“What do you want?”   
  
“So hostile. Can’t I say hi?”   
  
“One minute before class?”   
  
“You know, that’s what made me want to say hi. Your hair, your clothes, your… martial arts or whatever. You act like the studious type but don’t look it. Weird.”   
  
Sam felt a lump rise in his throat. Bard was acting calm, talking calm, but in Sam’s gut he could tell something else was wrong. Maybe because he pissed him off earlier. Or maybe it could have been whatever Bard was smoking.

“Well, if that’s all--”

  
Bard placed a hand on Sam’s chest just as he was going to start away. Sam froze as the stoner in the denim jacket leaned to Sam’s ear.   
  
“I also saw something  _ really _ interesting just now. Do you always carry weapons to school?”   
  
Sam froze up, not looking back at him. He felt trapped over such a stupid fluke. Bard only grinned, voice quiet for just the two of them.

“It’s okay. You don’t seem like the weird mass murdering type. More like the paranoid type. I get you. I struggle with a whole lotta’ anxiety and stress. Sometimes it feels like it’s crushing me. Like I don’t fit in. Like I’m outside of the mold by the people who surround me.”   
  
Sam slowly turned to look down at Bard.   
  
“Your habits. Got an estranged family? Somebody who made you this way?”   
  
It would have been a bit far to say that John and Dean were the cause of all of Sam’s stress and paranoia. Except, it mostly was, due to upbringing--but Sam wasn’t blind. He knew they cared. And their lives were dangerous, that’s why he needed to know what he did. Have the reflexes he had.

Explaining all of that to a stranger would prove a bit difficult.   
  
Yet Sam felt himself wrestling with his mind at Bard’s words. Almost like they resounded too much.

Bard nodded. “I could see it in you. In your habits. I’m the same as you. You want some help?”   
  
Sam furrowed his brows. “What kind of help?”   
  
A grin stretched across Bard’s face. He slowly opened his palm. Hidden in his sleeve came tumbling out some pills and a rolled joint. Yep. Sam should have known this is where he was going.

“They kill your anxiety, your paranoia… just for a little while--”

  
“No thanks.”   
  
Sam shook Bard off, walking away. Bard, confused, fast-walked to keep up with the beast, who was going through a growth spurt. Now just below Dean’s height by three or four inches.   
  
“Hey, I’m offering my services here. I could get pissed at you for earlier but--”   
  
“For what?  _ Threatening _ me out of a free seat? Are you sure those pills don’t make you irrational instead?”   
  
“I get it. I take them because I got anger issues, okay? We all got baggage to deal with.”   
  
“And what? Sometimes you need an extra push?”   
  
Bard stepped in front of him.   
  
“Exactly. I get if you don’t want to try it, I thought I’d just offer.”   
  
“Offer a one way ticket into cuffs and fried brain cells? Yeah. Sounds great.”

Bard’s face twisted in disbelief, taking a step forward, even if he had to look up at Sam. He didn’t have a shred of fear on him. Just crazy.   
  
“You think you’re better than me? Some holier-than-thou  _ S.O.B _ cause' I smoke grass and don’t whine like a little bitch about it?”   
  
“You showed me more than just grass. If I wanted to look like a sleep-deprived grease ball then maybe I would’ve accepted your offer.”   
  
Bard grabbed Sam by the jacket and threw him against the lockers. The loud bang caught the attention of students passing by, many stopping what they were doing to watch. Bard’s lips pulled back, almost like he were a dog baring its teeth.   
  
“I’ll tell about your pocket knife.”   
  
“Cool, then I’ll tell about the drugs.”

They locked eyes when a teacher came running up and separated them, having to yank Bard off of Sam.   
  
“Knock it off! What’s the issue?”   
  
“Nothing, sir.”   
  
Sam answered first, still locking eyes. The teacher waved them off.   
  
“Okay, boys, make a show of your fragile masculinity off school grounds and get to class, or it’s detention.”   
  
Bard clicked his tongue, storming off. Sam exhaled, going to opposite direction to his next class. Maybe he could have been more peaceful? Oh well.   
  
This next short school period was already looking fun.

* * *

 

Sam had been waiting out in the parking lot for fifteen minutes after school let out. He considered just sitting down and listening to his walkman. There were times Dean or his dad showed a bit late to pick him up, nothing new.   
  
He pulled his bag to his front, shuffling for the player and headphones when he felt a hand dive right into his jacket pocket.   
  
Sam whipped around, seeing Bard, slowly backing off, now dangling something shiny in his hands.   
  
Sam’s switchblade.   
  
He looked back and forth, walking with his palm out. “Give it back.”

Bard paused, then bolted around the school. Sam rolled his eyes and groaned. For all he knew Bard was going to hand it to the teachers and rat him out. Then it would lead to things like his brother or father being questioned, and that would make things a huge mess. He had no choice but to run after Bard as fast as he could, but Bard didn’t go back inside. He ran around the property.   
  
Sam found the back of the school by a pair of double metal doors. One of them was left open, and he made his way over, asking himself why he had to deal with this game today.   
  
But just as he was about to enter, the door slam shut and two guys jumped from behind the door, tackling Sam off guard to the concrete steps. One sat on top of him while the other got his arms into a lock, pressing his face to the gray gravel. Sam struggled, groaning as the more he moved, the tighter they held him.

“Hold still, dammit!”   
  
One of them crushed his knee into Sam’s spine, Sam letting out a pained noise. He glanced past them, the moving figure of Bard appearing from around the corner of the school’s brick foundation.

“Up the sleeve.” Bard ordered.   
  
Sam’s eyes widened at where Bard’s finger went. It touched the tip of a syringe, full of some golden liquid. A little spurt drizzled in test of the syringe, and Sam’s sleeve was being thrown up against his will, even as he shook his arm, which lead to another painful knee push into his back.

Bard knelt down beside Sam, grin across his face. “You’re in luck. I got some good stuff sold to me yesterday. Was gonna’ wait until the weekend, but… I think you’d like a bit, first.”

Without warning or listening to Sam’s plea, the needle was jammed into Sam’s arm, feeling the burn of the contents flood into his vein--and also a strong taste following the back of his tongue. He was screaming no no no no in his mind as almost immediately warm sensations started to spread throughout his body. Then the intensive feeling of nausea as the two let him go.   
  
Sam vomited all over the concrete, hand shaking as he went to wipe his mouth. Then… then it was strange. No, it was… amazing. Too amazing. He became overwhelmed with the feeling of ecstasy. Happiness. Like he didn’t have a care in the world.   
  
All of the stress he didn’t even  _ know _ he had floated right off of him. A giant boulder lifting. He may as well could have started flying at that point with how euphoric he felt.   
  
Bard grabbed Sam by the shirt and rolled him onto his back, smarmy grin across his face as he enjoyed Sam’s look of total bliss and high-induced pleasure. He relished it in almost a mocking way, rubbing it in his face.   
  
“Bitch. Now you’re on my level. Feels great, don’t it?”   
  
Bard waved the syringe over Sam’s eyes tauntingly. “This stuff feels pretty good. The best. And if you ask for more…”   
  
Bard grabbed Sam by the shirt, pulling them face-to-face.   
  
“I’ll say  _ screw you _ .”   
  
He dropped Sam back down, grabbing him and his boys and leaving him there. Sam tried to get up, but he couldn’t even feel his legs. Whatever Bard put in there was more than just heroin. It was a concoction of more than one somethings, as he was tripping so hard he crashed onto the grass, not even trying to get back up. The sun started turning to rainbows, spinning around and starts looking they were going to fall out of the sky. Sam’s world was rocking. Rocking, but overwhelmingly elated. Inside his head, somewhere deep down, he wanted to fight this feeling. His powerful sense of morals and straight-edged personality was telling him this was all wrong, that he shouldn’t allow himself to feel these sensations. They only lead to bad avenues.

But he was so high he couldn’t fight it. He literally didn’t care. He didn’t think about anything except how happy he was and how the sun looked like a pack of melted starbursts. He didn’t even worry about what Dean would do if he found him this way. What school security would do.   
  
Yet in the next two hours, nobody would come around that area. In fact, he started to convince himself the school all but cleared. Not even a security guard came walking around, if a small town school even needed one of those.

Then it was finally six hours. Four hours before Sam could finally get back to his feet. The edge of the hit was still on him, but he was able to make enough sense of everything past the euphoria, and the weird hallucinations began to wear off. Along with that came a headache and irritability throughout his body. He started to feel strangely anxious, almost abnormally, and that caused him to sweat in nervousness. Sam swallowed, rubbing his arms as his nerves felt they could jump out of his skin. He began dragging his feet in the dark towards the parking lot.

Just as he made it there, the Impala squealed in. Off went the engine, and Dean came rushing out of the car. He jogged over to Sam.   
  
“What the hell, man? You weren’t at the motel, I thought you went for a  _ walk _ but you never came back and you were still hangin’ around  _ here _ ?”   
  
“S-Sorry, Dean.” Sam rubbed his arms, having a hard time speaking. He felt like he was going to puke again.

Dean’s scolding switch immediately flipped to total concern as he grabbed Sam’s shoulder, looking him in the eyes. “Hey, Sammy. You okay?” He touched Sam’s face and Sam pulled away. “You’re sweating like crazy.”   
  
“B-Bad meatloaf.” He swallowed, folding his arms tight. He didn’t want to tell Dean about it. How he got so easily lured and jumped like that, and especially about the drugs. The whole thing was embarrassing and just a mess waiting to blow up. Sam didn’t want to cause any more stress on his father and Dean, contrary to popular belief. Drugs happening the mix would only make things worse. “I think… I think the meat was bad at lunch. I’ve been sick ever since.”   
  
Dean paused, then nodded. He grabbed Sam by the neck. “Okay--okay then we’ll get you back, vitamin B’d up and kick it in the ass.”   
  
Sam nodded as Dean helped him into the car and they drove off. Sam lowered the window, letting the cold air aid in calming a fraction of his building anxiety and irritability. He pulled in one leg to his chest and he bit on his nail. His mind kept drifting back to a very vivid image.   
  
An image of that yellow liquid. The heroin--and whatever else was in it. He heard stories, but he didn’t know how powerful that stuff really was.   
  
He understood why it was highly addictive now.   
  
Sam shook his head. No, he couldn’t be thinking about this. The last thing he’d start doing is heroin.

Detox, flush it out, walk it off.   
  
Walk it off.


End file.
